She let out a soft gasp. The tiers of seats were empty once more. Perhaps she had conjured his presence, her own imagination seeping poison into her head. No. There within the very recesses of the theatre, a door swung closed. Her throat thickened with fear. For what purpose had he decided to witness her audition, and worse, how had he come to know of the event? Even though Frederick had been quick to dismiss it, she had suspected that there was something peculiar about the man after their walk in the gardens; yet this seemed more ominous still.
One of the women cleared her throat. ‘Thank you, we shall inform you of our decision in due time,’ she said with no intonation, just as she had to the previous dancer.
Choking back the despair that threatened to suffocate her, Marietta inclined her head and exited the stage. She laced herself back into her velvet dress, topped it with her mulberry winter hat and matching coat and ventured back out into the bustling streets. Every second breath, she tossed a glance back over her shoulder, making certain that among the top-hatted gentlemen on the street, none were Drosselmeier. The gloaming was fast upon her and she had scarce enough time for her second matter of the day.
In her hurry, she almost collided with Victoria, strolling down the street in a claret tea gown and matching coat, arm in arm with Harriet, in cinnamon silk and a fur-trimmed cream coat.
‘Marietta?’ Victoria’s brow puckered. ‘Whatever were you doing in the theatre?’ With a quick dart of her eyes to either side of the street, she stepped closer and whispered, ‘Are you auditioning?’
Marietta inwardly sighed. The chances of colliding with anyone she knew were scarce, yet with a single comment she would be undone. ‘It was a passing whim. A mistake,’ she said, glancing at Harriet. ‘I would be grateful if you did not mention this to anyone.’
‘Oh, we would never,’ Victoria exclaimed. ‘Though I am sure it was not a mistake.’
Harriet said nothing yet her gaze was knowing.
Marietta wondered how things might have been different if the two women were confidantes. Perhaps their trust and kinship would have cushioned her life, their conversations brightened her days. She had a sudden pang for what could have been and never was.
‘Do enjoy your outing together. I’m afraid I must dash; Miss Worthers is awaiting me in the tearoom.’ Marietta smiled and made her exit.
Unlike other ladies of her class that had inhaled Edith Wharton’s novel as if it were a salubrious offering from the gossip columns, Marietta had regarded it as a cautionary tale. Torn between pity for the trapped Lily Bart and frustration at the woman’s conniving and self-sabotaging ways, she was resolved never to become such a dependent, grasping creature. Hence her current position, standing beneath a faded sign that read Pawnbrokers. She steeled herself against the mild humiliation sure to incur and strode in, her pocket heavy with shame and a Cartier diamond brooch. She was less naïve than some might suspect and if she were to be independent and go against her parents’ wishes, she knew that would require more than simple determination; she needed funds. Though a small voice now whispered in her head that she’d never need to use them after how badly her audition had gone.
‘I’ll give you twenty pounds for it,’ the man at the counter said, laying down his magnifying glass. He might have been Theodore’s age but possessed such a weathered and ruddy face, Marietta couldn’t be sure. Life had not bestowed kindness upon him. The store was dark, lit with gas lamps that were in want of a good cleaning. A gin bottle rested on the counter. Blue Ruin. It flavoured the man’s sour breath.
‘I shall accept nothing less than fifty pounds,’ Marietta said.
The man grunted. ‘It’s not worth more than thirty and I’m sure to have problems selling it. None of my customers will want such fancy fripperies, I can tell you that.’
The shelves were filled with mere trinkets and the plainer accessories of life, it was true, but Marietta had already caught a glimpse of a gold pocket watch chain drooping out from a drawer the other side of the counter, and behind that, a padlocked back room. She arched an eyebrow at the man. ‘Forty-five before I take my custom elsewhere. Do not make the mistake of taking me for a fool.’
‘Forty.’
Marietta reached for the Cartier brooch. Set in platinum, two diamond-studded bows enwrapped a diamond flower of such delicacy it could have been crafted from Chantilly lace. It winked at her in the dim light and Marietta looked away. It had been gifted her by her father upon the event of her eighteenth birthday.
‘Forty-five pounds it is,’ the man said hurriedly. He scowled at her as she watched him count the notes out. She gave him her sweetest smile and hastened out the shop.
Marietta hurried inside Griffin and Spalding, marched past the glass bottles of perfume, through the copious displays of hats and gloves and up to the tearoom. Not a trace remained of Miss Worthers. She returned to the foyer. Through the glass doors, she spotted the black and white Stelle carriage. The town hall clock struck six, booming out across the square. When Marietta turned to peer back inside the department store, she spotted an irate Miss Worthers, puffing her way. ‘You have been gone for two hours, I have been beside myself with worry.’
‘I do apologise. I’m afraid I have no excuse for my untimely behaviour other than I became quite swept up with all the festive happenings and couldn’t help myself exploring just a moment longer. The time seemed to run away from me.’ She offered a diffident smile. ‘You do know best of all how I adore Christmas,’ she added, hoping her former governess would remember her childish excitement at the season with fondness. Also prepared for the other eventuality, Marietta pulled a velvet box from her bag, careful not to disturb the underlying pointe shoes. ‘When I realised my error in judgement, I purchased these for you as an apology.’ She handed over the box of violet creams.
Miss Worther’s expression softened like melted chocolate. ‘Well, I suppose there was no harm done. Come, Marietta, we had better return to the house so you may ready for dinner. I believe your mother has once again requested the pleasure of Dr Drosselmeier’s company for this evening.’
Marietta’s heart sank. After her terrible audition, the very last thing she felt like was playing Drosselmeier’s betrothed-to-be.
‘I’m afraid the excitement of the day and how dreadfully busy the market was has given me the most frightful headache. I think I shall have to excuse myself and dine alone in my room as I couldn’t possibly face the good doctor this evening.’
Chapter Eleven
With only a few days until Christmas, preparations were well underway for the annual Stelle Christmas Ball. Scents of spiced gingerbread biscuits and mulled wine were in the air, and evergreen boughs dripped in red velvet bows, bedecking the entire townhouse. Marietta’s performance was quickly approaching, leaving her flitting between rehearsals, attempting to evade Drosselmeier at the dinners he kept attending, and the whirl of social engagements that snowed down on her as Christmas neared.
Still, she took pains to await the postal delivery each day, prepared to steal away the envelope she was awaiting from the Company before it attracted the attention of one of the valets in her father’s pocket. Though after the way her audition had concluded, it was likely a futile gesture. To her knowledge, Drosselmeier had not since spoken of that day. She knew he was not what he seemed but she too could bide her time – as Frederick had instructed her with chess, the long game was pivotal and necessitated patience. Waiting and watching, as the ground hardened with frost and the moon and the sun twirled their ancient dance across the skies, for his mask to slip once more.
With just two nights remaining before Christmas, rehearsals had ceased. Marietta endured teas and drinks and dinners with her family, who found inventive ways to seat her beside Drosselmeier at every occasion. He had become an ever-present spectre. Forcing them together further was his latest creation: The Sleeping Beauty set for the Stelle Christmas Ball. Large and mysterious packages were carted over from his townhouse each day. ‘For what purpose ha
ve you had them wrapped?’ Marietta had inquired the previous week.
‘Perhaps I wish to surprise you,’ he had said with a secret gleam, as if he knew of the thoughts she harboured. The suspicion festering within her. Strange occurrences seemed to happen around him and though Marietta grasped to explain them, she could not. And the more she considered them, the more they evaded her logic and trickled from her memories until she struggled to recall them at all.
‘And what if I happen to dislike surprises?’
His answer had been a slow smile before vanishing into the ballroom, shutting the doors behind him. Out of curiosity, Marietta had peered through the crack between the doors. As a child, vexed at her exclusion from some glittering ball or other, she had spied upon them, delighted by each flash of crystal chandeliers, lit by a thousand candles, each sparkling gown that waltzed past. Yet instead of a glimpse into Drosselmeier’s machinations, there had been nothing, instead a void black as a moonless night.
Pressing two fingers against the ache in her temples, Marietta now wandered down to the ballroom to check the progress of the set. Madame Belinskaya was most displeased they had not had the opportunity for a full dress rehearsal upon it and she was to send word to the ballet mistress of its completion post haste.
The doors were locked. Through them she discerned the sound of tinkering with tools, metallic clangs and voices. Drosselmeier’s deep tones pitched against her father’s imperious intonations.
‘It is the invariable tragedy of life that it is never as long as one would wish it. I do not grow younger, despite my best efforts,’ Drosselmeier said, eliciting a chuckle from Theodore before he continued, ‘and I oft find myself in need of companionship. Someone with whom to languish before the hearth on the harshest winter nights. To gift me with an heir with whom I might share my knowledge, my legacy.’
‘It could be argued, and undoubtedly has in some circles, that I am guilty of over-indulging my daughter. She has had every advantage with books, her education and those dance classes that so consume her. As a result, she is an entitled, wilful creature.’
Drosselmeier laughed. ‘I confess I have noticed her pertinacious manner, yet I am certain that I could tame her, if you would do me the honour.’
Marietta caught her breath before it spiralled free.
‘Do not be so quick to declare your confidence. Marietta is not to be underestimated; her intelligence is fierce enough to outsmart a sphinx. Though you yourself are quite the Renaissance man. Your courtship shall prove to be an interesting affair indeed.’
‘Of that I have no doubts.’ The men laughed.
Exhausted by her quickening despair, Marietta leant against the door. Frederick had been right after all; she was painfully naïve when it came to the ways of men. Her father and Drosselmeier were engaged in a different game altogether, one which she had not allowed for.
‘I am delighted in your interest, Dr Drosselmeier. Come, let us discuss matters further over a glass of my finest Armagnac.’
Marietta exited before she was seen. Her chest clenched tight and tighter. Her father and Drosselmeier were biting away at her life, hungry and relentless. It wouldn’t be long until they had devoured it entirely.
Ida was engrossed in the latest issue of Tatler in her personal drawing room when Marietta called on her. The room was a pâtissier’s delight in pastels; hand-painted lemon wallpaper, wing-backed chairs plush in cream and mint. Light and soft and rose-scented.
Marietta entered like an ice storm. ‘May I speak with you a moment, Mother?’
Ida turned the page. ‘Yes, dear. What troubles you this fair morning?’
Marietta selected the chair opposite her mother. ‘I have come to seek your counsel. By chance, I have overheard a matter which concerns me deeply.’
‘It isn’t becoming to listen at doors.’
Marietta waited. She rearranged the folds of her periwinkle tea gown, trimmed with cobalt satin ribbon and yoke frill.
Ida set her magazine aside. ‘I suppose the harm has already been committed. What have you unwittingly discovered?’
‘I have reason to believe that Dr Drosselmeier is seeking Father’s permission in—’
Ida pressed a hand to her chest, cosseted in an embroidered garnet tea gown. A soft gasp fluttered from her. ‘Do my ears deceive me? Could the good Dr Drosselmeier possibly be petitioning your father for your hand in marriage?’
‘I believe that to be the case.’
Ida’s cheeks bloomed with pleasure. ‘Oh Marietta, darling, what a fortuitous twist of events. Indeed, the fates have smiled down on us this morn. It seems we shall have a wedding to make preparations for.’
For a second, Marietta wished she had been built to a different model. Most women seemed to delight in engaging in discussions of weddings and children. What did it suggest about her that this was not her desire; was she lacking some intrinsic part of what it meant to be a woman? Was she broken, destined to either submit to a life that bent against the wild winds of her own ambition, or to be cast out adrift and alone?
Marietta spoke her next words quietly, knowing the instant they had tipped from her tongue, Ida’s smile would sour. It had been some time since she had seen her mother display such genuineness. ‘I do not wish to marry him, Mother.’
Ida’s brows drew together in the vaguest semblance of a frown. Once, she had smiled freely, only frowning whenever life conspired to displease her. Once, her emotions had tumbled across her face with abandon. That was before the fine lines had started their creep over her features. They dug in like sharp-fingered goblins and gnawed at her youthfulness, encouraging Ida to close her face off to the world. Witnessing this, Marietta felt she almost understood the lengths Countess Báthory had resorted to in her battle for youth. As reading the Aeneid would have her believe, the descent to the underworld was easy.
‘I possess no desire to marry Drosselmeier,’ Marietta repeated. ‘I confess I am not enamoured with the man and to spend a lifetime with him would be unthinkable for me.’
‘Darling.’ Ida reached for Marietta’s hands, holding them in her own. It brought a lump to Marietta’s throat as the days when she had been dressed as a doll and paraded about Nottingham, hand in hand with her mother, came to life. Ida’s blue eyes shone as if she too was remembering those days. ‘There is no need to be frightened, Marietta. I understand your reservations but, remember, women do not marry for love. I certainly did not. And yet I have had many happy years with your father and taken great pride in being a dutiful wife.’
The lump in Marietta’s throat swelled. ‘Did you ever wish you had chosen differently? Been free to choose who your heart dictated?’
‘I did not,’ Ida said firmly. ‘Your father was the best prospect and I did what was expected of me. Besides, romantic matches are oft an ill-fated affair.’ She softened. ‘Drosselmeier is a good and kind man and he will take considerable care of you. Of this I have no doubt. I have nurtured an inclination that he thought affectionately towards you since that very first dinner when we made his acquaintance and I am certain that you shall make a most charming bride for him. Perhaps a summer wedding so that we might sail to the continent this spring. I believe a wedding dress from Rue de la Paix is in order, and a trousseau of Italian silks, too …’ She retreated into her own daydreams, unaware of Marietta.
Marietta did not see the silks and laces that her mother dreamt of. She saw her pointe shoes packed away in a box, where they would languish until dust shrouded both her shoes and her delusions of freedom. Her sadness fractured, filling her with ragged ice. ‘You have failed to understand me,’ she said, the ice leaching into her words, turning them frozen and brittle. ‘I will refuse his hand. I do not trust Drosselmeier. There is something disconcerting about him and I no longer feel safe when I am in his presence.’
Ida’s laugh was light and musical. It suited the delicate freshness of her drawing room. ‘Do not be so innocent, darling; such is the way of men. They tend to assert an overbe
aring dominance over women; it reminds them of their ancestors who rode across the kingdom in armour, protectors of the land and all fair women who resided there. A trifle foolish, perhaps, but harmless enough. You shall soon become accustomed to it; there is no need for such dramatics. And once you are wed, I can teach you the ways in which you may shape their behaviour to your own benefit.’
Marietta released her mother’s hands. With such opinions Ida would never understand. Little wonder that Frederick could not be his honest self in her presence. She shuddered to think how her mother would react if she knew the true state of affairs between him and Geoffrey. ‘I think not. If you will not trust my word then has it not occurred to you that I may wish to pursue avenues other than marriage? My life ought to be mine to do with what I wish.’
Ida pinched the bridge of her nose with two delicate fingers. ‘Upon reflection, do you not find your behaviour deeply selfish?’ When she glanced at Marietta, the steel in her gaze was hard and unyielding. ‘Your father and I have provided everything you could have wished for since the day you were born. You are not free from obligation. You shall repay us and fulfil your debt to society by accepting Drosselmeier’s proposal, once offered. I shall not hear otherwise on the matter. I will forgive your words today as I understand the news was unexpected, but I anticipate after time to reflect you will come to your senses. This is the path you are on, Marietta. The next time we speak, I expect you to understand this and be graceful about your position in life.’ She stood up, smoothing down her dress and composure in one. ‘And when you marry, you shall wear a smile as lovely as your wedding dress.’
Midnight in Everwood Page 7
